Who do you want me to be?

Nearly a decade ago I watched Sex and The City when it was on tv. I lived in Hollywood and my roommates and I had cable, or rather I had cable and they tried not to make fun of me too much for being a total pop culture/tv junkie. But eventually people started coming by on Sunday nights and watching HBO with friends became a bit of a thing. We roared with laughter over some scenes, wept through other scenes, had epic feuds over who was hotter: Aidan or Big. We drank a lot.

It was an era. Not just for me and my friends but for women all over the country. Going out to dinner or for drinks with your girlfriends was fun in a whole new way because within every circle of friends there was going to be someone that was a little bit Samantha or a little bit Carrie or a lot Charlotte and a smidge Miranda. If you watched the show from the first season you watched a group of women change and grow.

A few years ago, when the first Sex and the City movie was released, I was so excited. I had become invested in these women and their story-lines and I wanted to know what they were up to. I saw them as old friends and I rooted for the happiness of all of them. And as they were roughly a decade + older I admired how gracefully they aged. They actually didn’t age, not in the traditional sense. They aged in a “you can’t box me in” sort of way. No one was packing up the crazy earrings or lowering hemlines. It was arms thrust wide open- Take Me As I Am! I am FABULOUS!

Which brings us back to the newest movie, which I have not seen. But I have seen the advertisements and commercials. And oh boy have I seen the movie poster. Jezebel has a fantastic article about it complete with ohmygoodness arrows to point out the crazy in the poster.

<—-Take a look at that mess. It is a beyond laughable fail in photo-shopping. Honestly, the poster is a bit bananas. The women have been tinkered with from head to toe and the result is a bit freaky.

What happened to aging gracefully? I don’t mind nips and tucks or botox. In fact that is pretty standard in Hollywood these days (whether you like it or not). But these women have been plasticized beyond recognition. Some even seem to be missing limbs or pasted onto different bodies!

Earlier this afternoon I decided that I wanted to take a new casual photo to use in my twitter profile. The BlogHer conference is in three months and I thought it might be nice to put a face to my online name. Not that I am expecting to be recognized at all- but maybe it might make meeting up with other bloggers I follow a bit easier. Social media’s take on facial recognition. Not everyone will know to look down for the plaid boots.

W was napping, I was experiencing a low zit day and actually had my hair down- all of which is exceedingly rare. So it was the perfect time to grab my camera, get near some natural light and take a self portrait. I took a few alternating between a smile with teeth and a smile with a closed mouth. I uploaded them onto my computer expecting to hate them all (because that is what I do) but was surprised when a few were kind of ok. I would want to run them through a tad of post production- I mean I have the technology to smudge out under eye circles and de-shine my face. Why not put it to work?!

So I loaded up my image into photoshop and began with my under eye area. W stirred and I clicked save while I ran to check if he was awake. And in a total “this NEVER happens” moment he was still asleep. I opened up the computer again and there was my face. Totally me. Real (except for the under eye smudging).

I took a long look at me and sort of shrugged. I’m not a movie star, I don’t have perfect skin, I don’t have a face that would launch a thousand ships. I doubt it would launch one ship. But it’s me. Blotchy skin, grey/white fly-aways, brassy red hair in horrible need of a touch up, chapped lips, round face, big bulby nose, blackheads all over, a chin that I have never liked…I could go on. Really, I could.

And as I was looking at my face and having way too much fun hating on it I remembered that damn movie poster with the plastic women. Ahhh. So THAT is how women should age. THAT is what we should emulate and aspire to. So I went to work.

I whitened my teeth, smoothed my skin, made my nose smaller, my face thinner, played around with my hair, bumped up the blue in my eyes, made my eyes wider, added false eyelashes, blush, and lipstick, made my lips fatter, my chin smaller, gave my eyebrows a jaunty arch. In other words I deleted or painted over pretty much 85% of myself. I created the Sex and the City movie poster version of me.

It was freakishly enjoyable. I mean it, it was the most fun I have had in a long time. I suddenly knew what glee W feels when he shrieks every time he knocks town a tower of blocks.  And even though the photo I ended up with is a total joke I still keep looking at it and thinking, “I need a facial, and whiter teeth, and a visit to a hair salon…” I feel like I can somehow attain this totally absurd and unreal version of me. Even though I spent nearly an hour liquefying my face (that is totally what it is called, by the way, liquefy), even though I find the made up image more than a tad gross, I still have this weird desire to try to become her.

And that, I guess, is what advertising is allllllll about. If you want to see a good collection of celebrity before and after photoshop moments check out here or here.

(If you are looking for a Mother’s Day post feel free to read this classic bit of snark from my archives.)